


Darling, just admit that it's not the way you thought it would be.

by beautifulsolitude03



Series: Is it the way you thought it would be? [1]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulsolitude03/pseuds/beautifulsolitude03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's momentous. And you think you should feel the world flinch.</p><p>But it doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darling, just admit that it's not the way you thought it would be.

“Maybe it's better if we don't know.  
Maybe it's better if we stay friends  
and ignore all the signs telling us to  
be together. That's what they want,  
right? There's no telling where my  
heart will be in a few years but all I  
know is that right now, I'm torn.  
Between the one I love and the one  
who has the potential to love me.”  
-soulfooled, Torn.

 

He finally likes you. It only took you three years to get him to admit it. But he wants to play the long game. With you. After all it was kind of inevitable. You knew when you were fourteen and he looked at you, really looked at you for the first time, that you had won, and he had given in.

It happened. Or it's going to. Either way you two agree on someday.

It's momentous. And you think you should feel the world flinch.

But it doesn't.

**

He comes through your window.

 You smirk from your place on the floor. “Uncle Boing!”

 He laughs, his face alight with something like happiness.  “Ferret," He greets with a gleaming grin.

You think he has a great smile. And an even better personality. He is wonderful. And his face has always been so handsome as to make your eyes hurt. But it's different now. You're feelings are backwards. They can't seem to settle right in your stomach. You think being Riley for so long has left its mark on you. Become a part of who you are, because every time _he_ looks at you, you remember stars, clusters of endless twinkling stars. And how your heart kind of just stopped.

 You struggle to remember who you were, because who you were wasn't in any way similar to Riley. Maya the Rebel. Maya the bad. Maya the loyal; would never have felt anything other than annoyance, and faint amusement for a country boy like him.

The girl you were would've destroyed him.

 You don't try to understand the girl you are now. It's too confusing. And you've given up on complex emotions for the time being.

 Josh lays on the floor beside you, staring up at your water stained ceiling.

“How was the party?”

He stiffens, and he's three years too old. But he seems so young laying there on your bedroom floor. His eyes have this wistful tint as he grabs your hand and interlaces his fingers with your's. You understand all too well.

  He thought he was ready. He wasn't.

“Not as much fun as I thought it would be.”

“Does anything ever end up the way you think it will?”

He is silent. His eyes tired. But his grip tightens, and you try to grip just as tightly. You're trying to do this right. Whatever this is. Whoever you are, really wants this to work. No matter how much the Riley part of you can't decide. That Maya-turned-Riley version of you is still stuck on the memory of a boy grasping her face between his calloused palms. That girl can't quite forget the tingle that ran down her spine.

 But you want to get this one right. And isn't that enough?

 **

It's Riley who tells you. Long after the triangle is dead. Long after you should’ve forgotten what the disappointment felt like. Tasted like. Since, you got the guy you've always wanted. And lost the one you hadn't. Or was it the other way around?

 You don't know anymore.

 It's Riley who tells you. But it's Zay; loose tongue, and tipsy words.

He explains in great repetitive detail the Jellybean experiment. The group is at a party, and Zay and you don't know where your other friends are (not that he would considering he was halfway drunk off his ass) so you remain by his side. Not because you have to, but because you two have been in similar situations before. Except your roles were reversed. And he held your hair up as you heaved up the poison in your system. Tried to forget the poison in your heart. Needless to say, he always made sure you made it home.

 Once Zay finds you, he begins twirling around you, moving his body in swift graceful arcs in a way you would guess he could've only learned from ballet. And he would be captivating if he didn't stumble every five minutes.

 Despite this you can't quite hold back a smile.

Zay winks flirtatiously. “Well hello, Darlin’,” he flashes a tipsy grin.

You laugh, as you greet him with an amused, “Babe.”

“What's a pretty little shrimp like you doing in a place like this?”

 The move is so abrupt. One minute he's standing in front of you. The next your hand is clamped around his shirt, dragging him so close your faces almost touched. You feign a threatening grin.

 “You making fun of my height?”

His grin is full of that southern charm. “ Me? Never,” His eyes gleam all too innocently. “But I might've mentioned that you have pleasing features.”

You bare your teeth playfully. “Just plea-”

You catch a flash of purple, and blue out of the corner of your eye, and turn. It's Riley and she is gripping Lucas in a lung crushing embrace. But his eyes are warm, and his smile is soft when he looks down at her and leans in.

A smile drags slow, but steadily across your face, just before you look away. Your hand has fallen away from Zay’s collar. There is a faint twisting in your stomach as you meet Zay’s shockingly clear gaze.

Lucas and Riley have been an established couple for about a year. Uncle Boing visits you some times, when he isn't busy.. You’re still too young, and he is still three years too old. But most of your friends are in relationships. And sometimes, you wonder if waiting makes Uncle Boing just as antsy.

If the thought of you make his insides squirm as well.

You're still not sure if that's the proper reaction to liking someone. Loving someone.

You're still figuring it all out.

And that terrifies you.

 Shouldn't you know the answer by now?

 **

After sneaking Zay into his room and letting him stumble to his bed, you place a trashcan beside him on the floor. And sit on his other side leaning your back against the bed frame. You convince yourself it's only because you don't want him to choke on his own vomit (and though you've crashed with each other before, this is different because he knows) and not because your lonely.

 “He balanced the scales, Maya. He had chosen Riley, but you made him pause. He put the jellybean bag down for you too.” Zay’s eyes are surprisingly clear, and his tone painfully solemn.

It's unfair. His drunken mutterings that aren't all that important. Not anymore. Not since you made your decision and _he_ made his. It no longer has a hold on you. At least you tell yourself it doesn't.

 You're desperate, and wistful. And you wished your heart had an off switch so you could cutoff anything too intense. Anything too much. But this pain burns in your eyes, and churns in your gut. And you were never good at letting go of things not meant for you.

 You take a breath, and wave off his words. “It doesn-”

But he is soft for you. And he knows he can argue against you without repercussions.

“It does matter! It does!” He is drunk, but his eyes are annoyingly focused.

“He could've loved you, Maya. I swear!”

 You readjust your body to lie flat on your back, and stare up at his ceiling. Close your eyes and imagine Josh’s warm blue eyes, and amused half smile. It does not make you tingle. Does not rattle, and shake your bones. But he likes something about you. He tells you that you're the best friend anyone could ever possibly have. And though you know he's wrong, and that that title rightfully belonged to Riley, hearing it still made your body tremble. Somehow made the weight on your shoulders lighter.

 “It’s Josh. It always been him.”

He eyes the ceiling dubiously. Like he knows your lying. Like he’s three steps ahead, and you don't remember the rules so he has to remind you.

“You don't believe me.”

He turns toward you. “I believe you want it to be him. That you want it to have always been him.”

You break. Crack open. But you don't cry, don't have any tears left. See, the last heartbreak had you crying oceans, painting hurricanes and tsunamis made of your pain. You're done with tears.

“ _Maya, what's going on with you?”_

_“I don't know. Do you know? ‘Cause…help me.”_

It's like you can't move forward. Forced to relive this feeling of déjà vu, and cutting confusion. And fuck, should it take this long? When does pretending evolve into something- anything more?

Zay begins puking.

*

You wake up the next morning. A draft of frosty air coming through the open window, making you shiver. Before your teeth can begin to chatter, a hot mug of hot chocolate is placed in your hands.

 There is a dull ache in your head as you meet Zay’s soft smile. It's a miracle that you don't burn yourself, as he plops down beside you, the bed shaking and creaking with the force. You take a long sip savoring the sweetness at the tip of your tongue.

 The warmth pulls in your stomach. Thawing you inside and out. “Just for this, I'm going to score you some digits, Babe.”

 His grin as well as his chuckle is sharp and quick. But his face morphs into something akin to apologetic. “Little Darling, I’m sor-“

 You cover his mouth. Prevent him from making some long apologetic speech, because as much as you hate to admit it you're terrified that he might be right. “Am I screwed?”

 You frown as he avoids your gaze. “Be honest.”

He takes a breath, meets your gaze and opens his mouth. But, he pauses. And in that moment you down the hot chocolate relishing the thick softness of the tiny marshmallows, but more so the burn as it scolds your throat.

 He bites his lip. “You're royally fucked.”

 Well. Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Quote belongs to the author, and in no way belongs to me.


End file.
